Alone and Broken
by leo.fearless.leader
Summary: "Have you ever wondered what it's like to lose a relationship with someone? Well I have. And I've been through it. There's only one word to describe what it feels like: hell. In the beginning and throughout, everything seems like it's perfect, making you feel like nothing is wrong. Then when you least expect it, it happens. Everything. Falls. Apart." -Alone and Broken
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone! I finally found a way to continue this story that I have written a while ago, and this is basically a prologue to the story, replacing the previous one.**

 **Anywho, enjoy! :)**

Have you ever wondered what it's like to lose a close relationship with someone that you love? Well I have, and I've been through it. If I'm being honest here, there's only one word to describe what it feels like: hell. In the beginning and throughout, everything seems like it's perfect, making you feel definite that nothing could ever go wrong. You feel invincible, that you could keep the relationship, no matter what happens between you and the other involved. Then when you least expect it, it happens.

Everything.

Falls.

Apart.

You wonder, what could you—the so thought invincible, you—have done wrong? What could you have done to lose something that you held so closely to your heart? What could have possibly caused this certain tragety upon yourself and someone who shared this used-to-be close relationship with you? Let me answer that last question. Not because I don't believe you know the answers, but because I know them like the back of my hand.

Jealousy.

Hate.

Competition.

Avoidance.

Separation.

That's it.

We had separated.

I never thought I'd see the day. The day where we would avoid each other, never speak a word to each other, and not even take a small glance in the other's direction. It was like the other was completely non-existent. But god, he is not non-existent. Not at the slightest. I've never spoken any word about this, and I am beyond determined not to for reasons that multiply every millisecond, but I've fallen for my brother, a countless amount of times. But like our broken relationship, it goes unnoticed. I wish he could see just how much I love him. I wish I could show him. I wish that I could spill out every thought and feeling that ever coursed through my mind. This very urge haunts my mind, invading it like a terrorist. And there's no escape from this attack.

I wish that we could travel back in time, back to when we were younger and everything was so much better. We never fought, only spending sweet, precious time with each other. Skateboarding together, sparring together, running through the darkened sewer tunnels together, and discovering new places to just talk about our everyday thoughts, letting out every syllable, stringing our words together in perfect harmony.

I never thought that it would stop. I thought we could carry on the dazzling relationship that we shared when we were just tots. But I guess that all good things must come to an end, huh?

Oh, I almost forgot. Where are my manners? Well ..

My name is Leonardo.

And this is the story of how I lost my best friend and closest turtle to me, Raphael.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter** **goes out to raphsai_03. Thank you for being my friend, Mckenzie. Your words give me so much confidence that will live on within me forever. You mean so much to me, and I hope that your days are as bright as you've made mine. You're an amazing writer and drawer, and you fill me with passion every time I speak to you. Welcome to your suprise, sweetheart. You wholeheartedly deserve it.**

I open my eyes. The first thing I see is the grimy ceiling and walls of my bedroom. I look over and read the blood-red colored numbers trapped inside the clock on the table: 5:37am. I'm assuming that the sun is shining over the beautiful city by now, but, what do I know? I'm just a mutant turtle stuck down in the darkened sewers of New York City. We're never able to go out to see the sunrise. Heck, we're not even allowed to go topside anytime when the sun is out. We can never be in daylight. We would be spotted by the very humans that call the surface their home. We aren't what the humans up there would consider "normal". We would be classified as freaks, or monsters. We would never be rightfully accepted into their world. Ever.

Anyway, getting to my point, every time I wake up in the morning, there's only one thought that courses through my mind ..

How am I possibly going to get him angry today?

Every part of me is dead serious when I say this, not only because the two of us are like mere enemies around each other, but due to the fact that anything I do always seems to set him off. Sometimes, I understand his reasons for getting angry, but others, I don't have a clue in the world. I'm at loss for answers, desperately trying to grasp some to hold, just to get to know my otōto a little better. Which leaves me pondering upon another question that swims through my mind, like a fish through water, never, never ending ..

 _What happened to us?_

It's a weird question, if you ask me. What is the meaning behind such a question that is asked by so many? What does the question point out? What does it reveal? I have a strong feeling that neither one of us know. I have a feeling that the both of us are clueless to what has happened to us over the years. At least, I know he is.

He's in the dojo this morning; there's no suprise there. He's just standing there, beating the stuffing out of the old punching bag strung up loosely in the dojo, completely oblivious to my presence in the doorway.

He has always been the strength and anger of the team, taking down his enemies, like fire takes down snow. The snow swirls around and clouds the clear sky with its mist, similar to what an enemy does to the city. Once the enemy shows his crimeful self, the rest of the city is blocked, polluted, and out of mind. That's when the fire comes in. Like the element of fire itself, he is strong, passionate, deadly, and most importantly, powerful. He takes control in his actions, getting quick rid of his enemies, like the fire quickly melts the snow that covers the clear air.

But there's one very thing that I admire about my dear otōto ..

His personality.

I know what you're thinking: How could I love the personality of someone who seems so .. heartless? Well, you see, while at times he seems like a stick in the mud and savagely over the top, he makes sure that he's careful about his anger around others. He knows that they have feelings as well, and it can be easy to hurt them in ways that a simple apology could never fix. He respects how they feel, and he takes caution in himself to make sure that he keeps them safe and happy. He'll do anything for them. Who are those "others", you ask? Well, it's quite simple ..

His younger brothers.

That doesn't include me. You see, he always makes sure that he doesn't get too defiant around his younger brothers, but when it comes to me, he lets it all out. He'll always let out his anger by yelling and screaming, or threatening to "spar" topside on an empty rooftop. I know what he means when he says this; his view of sparring is far different than mine. Then there's other times, when he's had enough, he's too unmanageable, and he goes completely physical. He'll beat me like the very punching bag he uses in the dojo, leaving me with cuts and bruises to litter my body.

Now, I'm not complaining or anything, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just simply describing my dearest younger brother, who, I will say, I love very much, no matter what kind of things he's done to me. You would think that one like me would be afraid to be encountered by a hothead like himself. You thought wrong. I contradict that action. Instead of cowering in fear at the sight of him, I flutter in joy. You may be asking why I would make such an action towards someone who seems like he has a hatred towards me during every living day. Well, I'll tell you.

Whenever he's angry, he always gets close to me, closer than ever. I could smell his scent; I could take in a deep breath as I inhale it like fresh air. When he's screaming in my face in pure rage, I hardly pay any attention to his words. I stare into his eyes, locking mine with his own. I eventually trail my gaze down to his perfectly shaped snout, and then finally, his lips. Oh, god, the things that I've wanted to do with those lips. Sometimes I grab the sudden urge to lean up and kiss him with all the passion in the world. To wrap my arms around him and keep his lips to my own in a graceful dance forever. This urge grows inside of me throughout every living day. It will never go away, I know that. It will only grow and grow. When I say that I love my otōto, I don't mean in the way that brothers say to one another throughout every passing day. No, I mean more than that. I have fallen for my brother a countless amount of times, and those numbers only grow like the strong passion that I have for the hothead. I know that there will never be a day that he will feel the same for me, but hell, I'm waiting for that day anyway.

...

I don't budge from my place as I hear his grunts, still watching as his fists smack at the bag, which is still dangling from its post, earning more punches, kicks, and stabs from him. His emerald eyes are locked on the bag, as my eyes are locked on his body. His curves, his edges. I want to just grab him and keep him against me, just to know that he's there.

"-eo? Leo? You there?" I'm interrupted from my thoughts as I see the figure I was dreamily gazing at, waving his hand in my face.

"Huh?" I ask, completely oblivious to what he was doing.

"You were just standin' there, starin' at me. What were you thinkin' 'bout?" God, just hearing his alluring voice makes me want to grab him and kiss him with all the love and passion in this world. Instead, I bite my lip, fighting the sudden urge that has just taken over me.

"N-Nothing. I was just heading in here to meditate .. b-but you were training .. s-so I thought I would just come and-" He cuts me off, his gruff and annoyed tone overpowering my stutterful one.

"I don't need a whole explaination, Fearless. I just asked." I nod slowly, my gaze finally leaving his eyes—those glowing irises—and locking onto the floor below me. My voice sounds soft, quiet, like I'm shrinking into my own shame. "Right."

Then that's it. He walks away. Just seeing him walk away from me like he does makes me grab another powerful urge to call out his name—his beautiful name—and run up to hug him from behind, just so I could hold him forever in my arms and trail my hands about his sides. I want to gently nibble the delicate skin by the crook of his neck, just to receive a small moan in pleasure. That's all I want. I want to pleasure him. I want to make him happy. I want to love him to no extent, without having to deal with the feeling of being pushed away, rejected, or judged. But that will never happen, and I hate having to deal with that realization.

You see, we were never like this. Back when we were tots, I would never censure him about any form of growing exasperation, and he would never go around looking for someone to pick a fight with. We were never bland to each other, always expressing our feelings deeply to one another, letting everything spill out of us like a river. Everything was almost perfect.

Almost.

Then it happened.

I was chosen to lead the team with honor and pride, and he was left in the dust. He would always come to me, complaining as to why I don't spend time with him anymore. I would always tell him the honest truth, but he never believed me.

He still doesn't. He still doesn't believe me. After six years.

Six years of responsibility.

Six years of burdens to be carried.

Six years of separation between myself and my dear otōto.

Six years of hate.

Six years of fights.

Six years of sacrifices.

Six years of abuse.

Six years of my depression.

Six years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, everyone, I'm here with chapter three! It's longer than all my other chapters, and I'm feeling really confident in this one. Please enjoy!**

 **Dont forget to R &R, everyone!**

Now, I know what you're thinking. How could I, Hamato Leonardo, the so-called perfect son, the fearless leader, be depressed and abused? Well, I'll tell you exactly why, from the very beginning.

It all started when I had been chosen to take the burden and responsibility of leading myself and my brothers into battle. I had gratefully accepted the role, as I was all too excited and anxious to start being the best I could be, to really notice how much I would be treated differently. I was acting blind and ignorant. Idiotic and dull-witted. Simpleminded and foolish. I should've seen what was coming for me, but I wasn't thinking about my consequences as leader. I was thinking about being better, getting more advanced trainings, and getting ahead of all of my brothers. Of course, what other ten year old would think about consequences? I know I didn't, and that is one of the worst mistakes of my life.

 _..._

 _Little feet stampled across the lair floor as a tiny, ten year old figure ran to the dojo, jumping for joy as he was about to experience his very first private training as the leader of a ninja team. This could be the time to prove himself to his Sensei, to his brothers, and show them that he has the reputation for such a high honor. He could finally learn more about the beauty in the art of ninjutsu, and take after his very father, who he had admired greatly. That day was going to great, he knew and believed it with all the motivation he held. The boy had been thinking nothing short of it all day, as he imagined himself standing tall in the mist of battle, commanding his own ninja team. He pictured himself defeating his enemies in cold, swift actions, leaving the bloody battlefield in victory. He pictured being praised by his brothers, he was the very hero that had saved them all from harm. He had high hopes for this role, as he was just accepted for the role that very morning. He exclaimed himself in pure energy and excitement, completely oblivious to what he was going to be put through throughout his entire time in that position._

 _..._

 _"Please, stop! You're hurting me!" The boy cried out as his Sensei, his father, brutally beat him with a wooden sword that he had gotten off of the weapon rack in the dojo._

 _"What was that?!" His Sensei had yelled, as he started to beat the boy harder, "Never ask for mercy! Would you beg for mercy if I were to be an enemy?! An enemy never holds back! An enemy will never have mercy!" He had stopped bringing the weapon down onto his small son, but instead, grabbed the delicate fabric tied around the turtle's head, yanking the boy to his feet. The child trembled violently at the sight of his father, and gulped quietly. This was a dream, right? What had happened to the unconditional love that was shared between the father and all his sons? What had happened to the hugs and kisses in the morning and at bed time? What had happened to the fun trainings with his brothers, who, in fact, had hardly seen him that day? What happened to him, to his father, to everyone?_

 _"Never," the old rat spat in the child's ear, snapping the small turtle from his thoughts, "complain about pain again. Complaints bring punishments. Like what was said, an enemy will never have mercy." The small boy nodded shakily, his tiny frame still trembling in fear. The rat threw the child to the side and left the dojo, barking out the punishment, "Fifty flips and two advanced katas! I don't want to see a rest until it's perfect!"_

 _This had not been anything that the little boy had expected. He thought that, now that he was leader, he was special, able to spend more time with his father, and get to learn higher advanced tricks in training. He'd be treated like the prince in royalty of his small family. Though, it was completely opposite. He'd never even thought about being beat, especially by his own father, his Sensei, his role model. This seemed very much like a dream to him. It had to be._

 _The tiny boy shakily stood up and began his long punishment, which ended with him collapsing in the middle of the dojo floor from exhaustion._

 _..._

I haven't complained since. In fact, many things have changed for me since that very experience on that day. I thought that I would take pride into those trainings and go through them with a proud smile on my face. I thought that I would conquer anything in them, and earn praise and support from my father. Though, all those thoughts washed away that day, spilling down into a lake like a waterfall, completely flowing out of sight, and out of mind. I've never thought anything positive about those private trainings since I first realized how they were being enforced upon me.

Every time I preform something correctly and as expected to, I only get met with another expectation, which advances from the last. I'm never congratulated for any of my successes anymore, and though, this might sound greedy and rude, I miss those times where the attention was focused on me. I always felt proud of myself, and often sprang into a kind of happy-go-lucky mood. I would last forever in that mood, not letting the slightest of difficulties weigh me down. I felt invincible, thinking that I could never—in my crazy, messed up life—break.

Well, I have broken. I have broken into a million pieces, with each and every piece scattered to different places of this world, making it completely impossible to collect them and mend them back to place. In other words, multiple pieces are missing within me, leaving me incomplete. Sometimes, my mind wonders to where those very pieces lay; maybe they're lost in my mind, or in the minds of those around me. Maybe they're trapped inside me, in a dark, hidden corner, unable to recieve light and become shined upon. My small piece of happiness has been pilfered by my father, who has kept the piece hidden, out of existence, for several years. He realizes that I am remarkably miserable without it, and he chooses to keep it that way. I feel as though he enjoys my misery, my stress, my anxiety. He enjoys seeing me in pain, he enjoys see me crack and break, right at the soles of his feet. He'll do anything to make sure that I fall.

My piece of belonging has been taken by my intermediate younger brother, who has ignored the fact that he has it, right in his hand. I will not lie, my brother holds more than one piece that has been stolen from me, but he chooses to ignore the fact that I am lost without them. He's made me realize many flaws within myself, for which I've punished myself for, many times. I cannot have flaws; it could only show all of my very weaknesses. I can never collapse underneath the responsibility and burden of the position I have taken, yet, I always seem to. I always seem to make a mistake, every time, no matter how hard I try to make things right. The mistakes could cost much more than we could ever imagine, and that exact thought haunts me, each and every night. The mistakes, the pain, the regret. These things have made me realize that I've certainly made too many mistakes in my life, which I am also punished for, as I am practically forced, by my father, to become the perfect leader in this world.

I've chosen to do things to myself that I, sometimes, highly regret. But other times? In other times, I enjoy the pain I inflict upon myself. I feel like I deserve it for the sort of things I have done and have committed to doing. I know that I deserve every piece of pain, but I can't ever will myself to go beyond it and the depression—suicide. Yeah, sure, I've thought much about it, and even tried it a few times, but I can't risk leaving my family for good, no matter how badly I get treated. I mean, what if my father chooses a new leader, and starts to abuse them, like he does to me? I can never let that happen, not to any of my little brothers. I have to stay to protect them, to protect him. Even though I know that they hate me for it, that he hates me for it, I'll still protect them with my life, because I know that they won't miss me if something happens. I know that if I end up getting killed within battle for taking the blow that was surely meant for one of them, they would shake it off, maybe not even shed a tear, and move on. It'll be just that easy for them. They'll develop a new leader, respect him and praise him, and everything will be okay. But I've sworn to myself that I'll never let anything harm them, as long as I'm there, and as long as I'm in reach. They are my source to live, my energy, my adrenaline. They give me a reason to fight, and if there's one thing that's worth fighting for, forever, then it's my family.

My family—who I am nothing but a weapon to, who I am nothing but a protector to, a shield to—is the reason why I am still walking this cruel earth. I don't care how they see me, as a waste of space, a waste of time. I'll always love and protect them with everything in me, even though things between myself and my brothers have dramatically changed since I accepted the role as leader. I've lost all three of my brothers, but my loss of Raphael had changed the most, and had changed me the most. We were so close, and able to do anything together with no care or worry in the world. We never fought, we never argued. Everything was smooth and easy. We never had any problems with playing games, working on training moves, or even simply sitting down to talk. He loved me, and I loved him. I still do, even if he doesn't feel the same. I never thought that we'd change, but somehow, we did, and I hate it. I hate it with a passion that burns like fire.

 _..._

 _He was standing at the door frame, watching closely as his immediate younger repeatedly smacked and kicked at the new punching bag that had been given to him recently for his birthday. He watched every move, every punch, every swing, every kick. He watched with admiration and interest into the hothead, as the said figure seemed appealing to him, catching his obvious attention. He had been crushing on the hothead for only a few months, but he had already fallen for his brother, in ways that his words cannot describe. He has only wished for Raphael to feel the same; if only, if only he did. He never would, he knew that, but that would never change the fact that he had these feelings for the younger. He walked up to the youngest of the two, only to get a cold acknowledgement._

 _"What do ya' want?" Raphael had growled at his eldest, not even taking a small glance into his direction. He continued his work on the punching back with sweat dripping from his forehead, his brows furrowed, and his eyes focused._

 _"Uh, I just wanted to know if you wanted to play? Maybe take a walk in the sewers? We haven't done that in a while."_

 _Raphael stopped and looked at him, which, in turn, made the eldest tense majorly. The boy refused to lock his gaze into Raphael's, afraid that he might give away a secret that's been held for only months, which has felt like years._

 _"Why would ya' want ta' do that? Don't cha' have ya' private trainin' later?"_

 _"Well, y-yeah, but-" The boy stuttered, starting to fiddle with his small fingers, still keeping his gaze from his younger._

 _"There's no 'but's, Leo. Ya' always talk 'bout how much trainin' ya' got, so why don't cha' go do it?"_

 _"I-I don't have it right now, Raph. I was just wondering, i-if you wanted to do somethi-"_

 _"Well, ya' know what? I don't, 'kay? I ain't ever gonna do somethin' with ya' anymore."_

 _The nervous boy finally switched his gaze up, his big, sapphire eyes locking into the emerald ones in front of him. "W-Why not?"_

 _"Whadaya' mean, 'why not'? Ya' know exactly why! Don't cha' have more important things ta' do, than waste ya' time with me?"_

 _His eyes widened, his face flipping like a table, his expression of confusion turning to denial. "No, of course not, Raph! I'll always have time for one of my brothers."_

 _"Oh, really? Ya' have ignored me for nothin' but trainin', for two years! Nothin's gonna fix that!"_

 _"Look, I'm sorry, but I've just been getting too many things on my mind, and I haven't had the time to-"_

 _"Ya' see?! That's exactly it! Ya' don't have time ta' hang out with us, because ya' too busy bathin' in Splinter's praise!"_

 _His eyes slowly watered as he forced himself to look away from the glowing green irises of his brother. Every word that has escaped Raphael's mouth was wrong, as he was more wrong than he would ever know. But he couldn't tell him, he couldn't reveal the secret that he's been hiding for two years, ever since that horrifying day in the dojo. The insults, the beatings, the sword, the fists, the punishment, the anger, the hate, and he could never tell, or it would lead to something worse . . ._

 _The gruff and angry voice of his brother had snapped him out of his dreadful thoughts, as he had still kept his gaze down to the floor. "I hate that ya' always have ta' put off ya' family, for ya' precious trainin'! I hate that ya' act like ya' all perfect, when ya' really nothin' but a mistake! I hate ya', Leo! I hate ya'!"_

 _And with that, the hothead stormed away, not realizing the damage he had just caused._

 _His eyes started to water faster as he watched his brother walk away, as he now felt the hot, fresh tears rolling down his small cheeks._

 _..._

 _He had ran to his room and to the bed, quickly grabbing his pillow and breaking down, his loud sobs becoming too muffled to hear. He had just been insulted, rejected, loathed, and broken, all by the one he loved the most. He had always known that Raphael changed around him, but he never would've imagined that something like that would be said. Maybe Raphael was lying, and he didn't really hate his brother? Maybe he never meant what he said? No, that's not a question. Raphael speaks his mind, no matter what the consequences are. He always tells what he thinks, and he doesn't care how it affects others. Everything his about him, around him._

 _After much time, his small frame sat there, against the bed, as the crying had finally lured him to sleep. Tears had stained his tiny cheeks, leaving marks on his cherubic face. The pillow was soaked in tears, sweat, and snot, that had come from the blue cladded child. The boy had sobbed for hours, unable to hold in the pain that he was feeling._

 _He felt unwanted by his own brother, his own crush, who had just damaged him with absolutely no regard. But the damage, the dramatic damage, had not been caused by the words said, but by the way he had acted afterwards. He had walked away with no sympathy, no sense, and no regret. That's what damaged him the most, and left him completely broken._

 _..._

If I'm being completely honest, I would've never expected someone like my immediate younger to say what he did that day. We had always stuck together, and we had promised to each other, and ourselves, that nothing would tear our relationship apart. We promised that we'd be there for each other through every dark moment; when one of us felt in the dark or lonely, the other would always be there for company. When one of us felt upset, the other would always be there to brighten our day. When one of us was happy, the other was, too. We never thought that things like this would happen—him describing his strong hatred towards me, for something that he has a false idea of, and our avoidance and separation, which has caused us to drift apart from each other. That was the day I broke, and I've been broken since.

 _..._

 _What nobody had discovered that night was the broken mirror in the corner of the room, with part of the glass missing. It was sitting in the boy's hand, stained with blood, as it made short cuts along the other wrist._


	4. Chapter 4

Hey! Things have been stressful for me lately, with school, sports, homework, essays, anxiety. You know, the usual :')

Anyway, enjoy the fourth chapter, and don't forget to R&R, everyone!

. . .

I groggily open my eyes and turn my tired gaze to the same clock, sitting on the table, as it was there yesterday morning: 2:17am. Groaning quietly, I get up and out of my bed, and pull the covers up to the pillow, leaving it organized and clean, just how I like it. I cannot stand an unmade bed; it shows irresponsibility and carelessness. It shows that one has no motivation to keep something so simple, clean. Therefore, I prefer to leave my bed made every morning, as it shows that I care for the very few things that I have in life.

My feet drag across the lair floor as I walk, my form slumped and slow. I used to playfully and excitedly run and hop along this floor, laughing and playing with my three dear brothers. I used to run around this place with a real smile on my face, not one that has been forced for the sake of others' worry. Now, everything is different. Everything has changed. I walk around with a frown, no longer bringing that joyful spring to my step as I walk. After everything I have experienced over these past several years, I see no reason to.

My mind is a haze right now; all I can think of is the negetive things in my life. The beatings from my own father, the opinionated behavior of my intermediate younger, the loathing of all my friends and family, the burden of leadership, and most of all, my depression.

I enter the kitchen, and reach for the cupboard. I pull out a clear glass and look at it. I see myself looking back at me. I stare into those ugly, sapphire eyes, that have clearly defined most of my emotions and feelings though the irises. I stare at the dark blue mask, that has symbolized my role of my team. It has symbolized my leadership, my part, my job . . . and that job is to be the best leader and protector there is.

There's another part of me that I stare into: my hatred. I see my own hatred towards myself in the glass. I scoff in disgust, clearly disgusted by the way I look, the way I can easily track and see my own hatred, and the way I have chosen to handle myself. After everything I have done, there is no reason to not hate myself. I see more reasons to do it than to not to, so I have just chosen to roll with it. I will admit, I hate myself more than I will ever begin to explain. I cannot describe such an emotion that is so frequently held by various people. I hate myself for my actions of the past, my predictions of the future, and the way I am trying to control the present. I've done so many wrong things in my life, more than I could ever describe. I have sinned, made plenty of mistakes, and have been committed to doing things that I will regret . . .

I set the glass on the counter and open up a drawer, starting to scrutinize through it. I keep tossing things on the counter, still finding my way to the small knife in the back corner of the drawer. I hastily grab the knife, and start to mark deep, long cuts along my wrist. Go on. Cut. Cut until you can't bleed anymore. Cut until you collapse. Cut. Cut. Cut. The voices inside my head scream at me, demanding to be heard. They don't care about you. They never have, especially him. He'll never love you. He'll never feel the same about you. You know that. He sees you as nothing but a mistake; a fault in the system. The knife digs deeper into my skin, causing a small stinging sensation. Go on, keep cutting. Go deeper. Deeper. Deeper. They hate you. They all do.

They all do.

"Leo? What are ya' doin'?" I am snapped out of my thoughts as I see him, he's standing across from me, and he looks . . .

He looks worried? Concerned, maybe? But, why? Why would he be worried about someone that he doesn't care about, that he hates? He couldn't care less about a thing I do, so why would he be so worried, so concerned?

All of these questions are coursing through my mind, that I don't even process the fact that he has grabbed the knife from me, and is now holding it in his hand, his other hand clasped around my wrist. "What were ya' doin' with this?" He asked, confused.

'I was going to cut myself deeper and deeper, until I finally bleed out.' Boy, it would be unbelievable to experience what he would do if I actually said that to him. But then a sudden question hits me, something leaving me pondering aimlessly . . .

What if it isn't the things he would do, but if it's the things that he wouldn't?

What if he doesn't do a thing about it? What if he shrugs it off and just carries on without a care? What if he just lets it go, like there's no problem? What if he doesn't bother to care about me?

"Leo? Ya' keep spacin' out. Is there somethin' wrong?" Now he is looking really worried. But, why? Why would he be worried for someone like me?

"Of course not. Why?"

"'Cause I asked ya' a question."

"Oh, well, what was it?" I feel completely out of my way and lost right now. What did he say?

"I asked what ya' were doin' in here, with this." He held up the knife in his hand, as I see my disgustful reflection once more, through the bloodied blade.

I snatch the knife away from him, causing him to flinch. "N-Nothing. I-I was just getting something from the drawer, a-and my hand slipped and the knife was there, that's all." My voice is once again stutterful and shaky, which, unfortunately, catches his attention.

"Why are ya' stutterin' so much?"

"I'm just tired."

"Then why aren't ya' asleep?"

"I couldn't fall asleep."

"How are ya' not able ta' sleep when ya' tired?"

That's it. I don't know what just got into me, but it was not good. I was so annoyed with this, but I had no idea why. He was just asking questions, right? "Goddammit, Raph, I just can't sleep! Now will you stop with all these questions already?"

His confused expression turns into a hard, stern one, his brows furrowing in anger. His teeth are gritted together, as I can see he is trying to hold back a low growl. "Fine, but don't come cryin' ta' me, Fearless, when ya' get insomnia." He pushes past me, shoving me into the refrigerator. I can hear him mumble lowly as he walks out.

"It's not like I care, anyway."

My gaze softens at this, as I watch the distance between us expand. I hate to see him leave me like that—angry, done with, careless. It makes me want to reach out to him and apologize for all my mistakes. It makes me want to keep him forever in my reach, so I could feel him beside me, instead of the cold, sharp metal—that I had advanced to, from glass—dragging across my skin.

I look at the knife still in my hand. I go to reach for more cuts, before I rush to the sink and clean it off. I place the knife carefully back in its place, along with everything else I tossed out of the drawer before hand. My bandages are worn, so I slowly walk back to my room to rewrap my arms.

I start to remember my reflection. Those cold eyes staring back at themselves, mimicking each other. My pursed lips, tied in a knot, making me unable to speak out my problems, my troubles. I am unable to seek help, as I have no one to run to; no one to call my family. They all hate me.

They all do.

That's what hurts me the most. The fact that I am alone, with no one to turn to, no one to guide me along the way to freedom.

Alone. That's how I always feel. Broken. That's how I always am. I always am, and always will be, alone and broken.

. . .

Sorry for such a short chapter; this was just a side-tracker chapter. but I'll make it up next time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! I have nothing to say, so here you go. Enjoy your day, everyone.**

. . .

We're training in the dojo this morning. Not just my father and I. It's all of us today. These kind of trainings happen once in a blue moon; most of the time, it's the three of them training together, and I'm training alone. Today, Splinter has given us an "all together" training, and I couldn't feel more relaxed, knowing that I can't be beat in front of them.

"Nice work, Leonardo! Perfect form!" He praises me. I almost laugh at this; this praise is only an act from him. He'd be beating me to the ground right now if the others weren't here. Besides these thoughts, I continue to step up in my form, while all the others are falling behind. I may be ahead of them, but I'm not even close to where my father wants me to be. Thankfully, he can't do anything to me right now.

I hear Raphael scoff next to me. He mumbles something, and I feel him glare at me. Despite how much he affects me, I ignore it, and I continue.

"Raphael. More speed," Splinter says. I thought Raphael was moving pretty fast enough, but I guess I was wrong. I decided not to interfere. That's what Splinter wants from him, so I'll let it go.

"Donatello, more force." Donnie's trying, I can see that. But before I could say something, Splinter speaks again.

"Michelangelo, more focus!" He yells this at my baby bother, and I instantly feel bad for Mikey. He can't help his wandering mind. He's a young, teenage boy. His mind wanders, but he still tries to focus as much as he can. But, like the other two, I let it go.

I perform a kick in the air. I land a bit sloppily, but I don't let that get to me. I continue as if nothing happened.

"Great landing, Leonardo!" Are you serious? His acting is going to go this far? To where my sloppiest landings are great? Before I could say anything, Raph steps up. We all freeze.

"Are ya' serious? That was the messiest landin' I've ever seen! And ya' gonna praise ol' Fearless for it? Ya' should be lecturin' 'im, just like ya' lecture us!" He turns away from my father and pushes me. "But no one would ever hurt Fearless, now would they?"

Splinter doesn't say anything, but I sure as hell am. "What's your problem, Raph? I do get lectured; I get lectured for things I do wrong! That's why I'm not being lectured today; because I already get lectured in my trainings!"

He pushes me again. This time, to the floor. "Ya' know what? Ya' suck at lyin'! I know ya' lyin', Leo! Ya' always bein' praised and shit when ya' even make the biggest mistakes!" He hits me. "Ya' always have ta' be loved and praised, and what da' we get? Nothin'!" He hits me again.

I don't say anything. If I say something, I'll end up spilling out the secret, and I'll be in for a rude awakening then. It won't happen.

"Why aren't ya' sayin' anythin'? Is it 'cause I'm right?" He yells and hits me again. I want kick him in the stomach; cause him pain for once. However, I don't. I can't hurt him; he's my brother, the one I love most. I can't hurt him. I won't.

What happens next takes me by suprise. Splinter gets up and tosses Raphael off of me, like he's just a rag doll. He bends down and places a hand on my forehead, causing me to muster the very slightest of flinches.

He frowns at that, but as soon as he realizes that no one noticed, his frown turns to a straight line; his eyes molded into a concerned gaze. He speaks softly and lovingly. "My son, are you alright?" This is what I love about our trainings as all of us. He actually treats me like his son; he treats me just as he did when I was a tot. I'd do anything to go back to those days. Anything.

"Yes, Sensei. I'm okay." This feels amazing, to be able to talk to my father with no fear of saying the wrong thing. It's a simple "yes or no" question. There's no reason to be hated for this one.

"Alright, my son," he takes his hand off of my forehead and helps me up, a small smile on his face. He hasn't smiled at me in years; it feels so nice to see him smile again, while the reason for his smile is me. At least, I think.

"Training is dismissed for today. No more trainings until tomorrow morning. You all may use the rest of this day to do whatever you please." I almost leap into joy at this. No training. No beating. No aches or pains. I can spend today however I like. Maybe I'll hang out with my brothers. Maybe I'll draw in my sketchbook. Maybe I'll take my time running along the rooftops. Maybe, just maybe, I'll do everything.

This day has brought me into such a great mood; I haven't felt like this in a long while. I have freedom today, and I couldn't be happier.

I spend most of the day drawing, drawing the most beautiful things in my eyes; the city, bouquets of roses, crowns and bracelets of flowers, and my brother, Raphael. I see him as the most beautiful of all. He is the most beautiful in my eyes, and nothing will change that. Not to me.

I suppose my brothers have been doing what they normally do during free days; Raphael practicing on his punching bag, Michelangelo playing his video games, and Donatello working on his inventions in the lab. Those three always know how to occupy themselves with the things they love. I'm glad that those things could be given to them.

It's now late in the afternoon. The sun is almost down, so I'll be able to take a walk topside pretty soon. I decide to walk out of my room and to the living room, where I see all three of my brothers sitting on the couch, with Mikey's video game paused. Before I could ask why they paused the game, I hear Raphael speak.

"He needs to learn that he ain't the only one in dis' lair. The dude can't stand a fucking minute without bein' praised!" My heart drops at this. I know that he thinks all of that, but for him to say it out loud? "He's nothing but a suck up; a teacher's pet." So that's what he muttered in training. Teacher's pet.

"I agree." Donnie. "He needs to learn that he isn't perfect, and that we can do anything without him. He thinks that we can't survive without him. He needs to open his eyes and see that we could fare just fine."

Mikey is the next to speak up. "Dudes, you saw what happened this morning in training! I got yelled at for not focusing, but he got worshiped for a messy landing! It's bullshit! The dude just gets a praise after praise!" He calms down after this. "He's just getting in the way. We'd be better off if he just left. I mean, seriously . . ." I don't stand there to wait for them to say more.

I run back to my room.

I cry.

That's it. This whole day, I was so happy. And for what? Just to be beat down again. Maybe not physically, but mentally. My one chance to be happy is shattered and grounded into dust, the dust being blown away by the unforgiving winds, leaving me to bathe in sadness. This is what I hate. I hate it. I hate myself. I hate this life. This horrible, horrible life.

 _You see? They don't care about you. They never will. You heard them. They want you gone. They want you to leave. They want you dead, especially him._

I cry.

 _You're useless. You're a burden. Just leave. You'd make things better. For everyone._

These voices; they're back. They won't leave me alone . . .

 _Go ahead. Just do it._

I bury my face into a pillow.

I cry.

I cut.


	6. Chapter 6

**I have nothing to say today. I hope you all have a great day.**

Depression is like a void. Once you're sucked in, there is no such thing as getting out. You're trapped, suffocated, and unable to get help. No one has the will to deal with your problems, and help free you from the void. You're left alone, and you're faced with the troubles that have to be handled by yourself. Everything is on you, and there's nothing you can do about it.

That's how I feel right now. I'm alone, I'm abandoned, I'm left in the dust. I've been rejected and ridiculed. Shoved around and beat. I've been unloved by many, when I've loved them with everything. I've given them everything I had, and yet, I get nothing. I don't want or mean to be greedy, rude, or speak against my family, but it is the complete truth. I always protect them; I always make sure that they are out of harms way, but then they walk away without a care when it comes to helping me. They're not there when I need them the most.

Like what I have said, is that I have made too many mistakes in my life. But what I haven't said, is that I'm scared. I'm afraid that I'll make a mistake that'll cost their lives, and I'll never be able to see them again. Because then I'll know that they died hating me, as if they don't hate me already.

They think that I take everything too literal or too seriously. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I will admit, most of the time, I do.

. . .

 _Four small boys were playing a new board game that Donnie had gotten for his thirteenth birthday. The eldest of the four had actually decided to join his brothers, and they had accepted. At least, the two younger ones did._

 _"Gah, D! I don't get this!" Little Michelangelo, who was still twelve, whined. He wasn't understanding the game, and he needed a new explanation._

 _"Alright, Mikey. I'll explain it again. First, you-" Donnie began, but was cut off. Of course, it was Raph._

 _"Really, Don? Ya' gonna explain it ta' him again?"_

 _"Raph, he doesn't understand. Just let me explain it to him."_

 _"If he don't understand, then he shouldn't be playin'!"_

 _"Raph! Just let me tell him how to do it!"_

 _"No!" Raphael began getting up and walking away as the eldest spoke up._

 _"What's your problem?! Why do you have to be such a jerk all the time?!"_

 _Raphael turned around, his small body already trembling in anger. "What did ya' just say ta' me?!"_

 _Leonardo was scared at first, but he stood his ground—something he normally doesn't do against his immediate younger brother. "You know what I said, hothead!"_

 _Raphael charged. He pulled out his Sais as he ran towards his brother. He was furious. "Ya betta' apologize fer that!"_

 _Leonardo still held his ground, despite his own body trembling in fear. He stepped back as his brother charged. his hands up. "Raph, calm down."_

 _"No! Ya' want a fight with me? Well now ya' got one!" The younger yelled. He knocked Leo to the floor, got on top of him, and started hitting him repeatedly._

 _Leo yelped as he was nailed in the nose. "Please, Raphie! Stop!"_

 _"Ha, 'Raphie'?" The younger one mocked the older. "Ya' more pathetic than I thought!"_

 _Meanwhile, Donatello and Michelangelo had left the room to get Splinter, only to be turned down and ignored. Splinter didn't want anything to do will Leonardo, even if the leader was being beat by his own brother. At this point in time, Leonardo had suffered through abuse for three years. So Splinter figured that the boy was used to it._

 _Back in the living room, a helpless Leonardo—who had already started crying—was still being hit by an enraged Raphael._

 _"Stop cryin'! Ya' decided ta' stand up ta' me, now this is what ya' gonna get!"_

 _Leonardo helplessly tried to cover his face, but failed. He tried to stop his brother, but, again, failed. He could feel bruises form on his face with every punch, and his vision blurred every time a hit was taken._

 _Finally, Donatello and Michelangelo both came out of Splinter's room, confused as to why their father wouldn't help._

 _"Raph, stop! You're hurting him!" Donatello was the first to attempt to stop Raphael. However, Raph knocked Donnie off of him, and continued to beat Leonardo._

 _Michelangelo ran up to Raph and tugged on his older brother's arm roughly. "Raphie, stop! Please!" The younger' voice cracked as he yelled, which caught Raphael's attention._

 _He stopped hitting Leo—much to his dismay—and looked at Mikey, who had tears in his small eyes, and some even falling down his face._

 _Raphael's anger faded away at the sight of his baby brother; he was his only weakness. As he was about to get up, Mikey spoke._

 _"Raphie . . ," he pointed to an area near him. "Look."_

 _That was when Raphael had realized that Leonardo's body was limp under his own. He turned his head to look at his older brother, and what he saw made him sick._

 _Leonardo's face was covered in blood and bruises. His nose was bleeding profusely, his lips split from the contact of his teeth and Raphael's fist, and his tongue bleeding from biting it too hard. The boys eyes were closed, and his face was blank._

 _Raphael's eyes widened "Leo . . ?"_

 _Once he recieved no response, he grabbed his brother's shoulders and started shaking his limp body. "Leo!"_

. . .

That was the first time he had ever hit me—aside from training—let alone knock me unconscious. Now, whenever he does it, he walks off without a care. He doesn't come to see if I'm okay anymore. That was shown from what he had done earlier today. He shakes it off and leaves with no problem. Somehow, it seems like he knows I'm used to it. Which I am; getting beat for everything you do starts to grow getting used to. And I have been used to it for a long time. My father forces me to; he doesn't give me a choice. He expects me to be perfect; he expects me to make no mistakes. It's been like this ever since I was little.

. . .

" _Stop! Fix your form!" The old rat sparred, hitting the kid in the arm with his sharp staff._

 _"I-I . . ," the boy stuttered as tears filled his eyes. "I'm trying."_

 _"Try harder! This has to be perfect!" The master of the child kicked the kid to the floor, causing the child to lose his grip on his weapons. "You're weak! You're useless to this team; to this family! You're nothing, Leonardo!" The rat yelled, before growling at the child. "Would you want the lives of my sons to be lost due to your mistakes?"_

 _The boy shook his head. "O-Of course not, Master," the child whimpered, more tears filling his eyes at the thought of losing his brothers._

 _"Good," the rat paused. "If you keep up this carelessness, I will show you the real meaning of pain. Do you understand?"_

 _"Yes, Master," the boy trembled._

 _"Now get out of my sight!" The rat yelled, kicking the boy in his side._

 _"Y-Yes, Master," the boy got up and stumbled out of the dojo. On his way to his room, he passed his brothers. They didn't turn one glance to him._

 _He arrived at his room and cried, the sounds of his sobs being buried by the pillow he used to keep himself quiet. As always, no one heard him. No one checked on him; no one came in to make sure he was okay. No one ever cared for him._

 _The boy took his head out of the pillow, revealing a puffy, red face and bloodshot eyes. He ran to his dresser and scurried through a drawer, before pulling out a piece of class. He pressed the sharp material against his wrist—his small, marked wrist—and draggged it, making more marks than he once had._

 _Instead of shedding more gruesome tears, the boy let his lips twitch into a small smile. He wanted this pain; he enjoyed it. He felt as though he deserved it, for all the mistakes he's made. He was a mistake, himself. He just knew it._

. . .

I still know that, now. I'm a mistake; a glitch in the code. I don't deserve to live a life, even the horrible one I'm living now. My family hates me; my brothers, my father, even April and Casey. They hate me for the things I've done in the short time I've known them, and they will never go back on that hate. No one will, and I know that.

I'm in my room now, holding a switch blade in hand. I drag the sharp metal across my wrist, smiling just as I did when I was young. I had lost all my innocence when I was just a boy, and I'm not any better now. If anything, I'm worse.

Cut, cut, cut, cut.

My mind screams at me again, and I am unable to fight those voices.

They don't care about me. They showed me that earlier today, when they were talking about our training. They think that I only get praised, and nothing else. The way that they're wrong makes me want to laugh, then cry.

My door opens. "Hey, Leo. We have patr-" There's a voice behind me. "What are you doing?!"

It was Donnie.


End file.
